


⚕ This Covenant ⚕

by captain_nicnac



Series: Son of Apollo [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-30 23:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_nicnac/pseuds/captain_nicnac
Summary: It's just Star Trek (2009) from McCoy's perspective.





	⚕ This Covenant ⚕

“Well I’ll be fucking damned,” McCoy muttered from behind a stubborn smile. The rest of the mock-bridge of the Kobyashi Maru slipped into confused congratulation. As if they had won anything, as if they had accomplished anything. But the situation was so unprecedented… there was no protocol, spoken or unspoken, for this eventuality. So they smiled and released their breath and let their awe shine out of the corners of their eyes. There were questions and awkward shufflings of feet, movement and murmurings. And under it all there was the simple inexpressible amazement at Kirk’s luck, Kirk’s gall, Kirk’s... whatever the hell it was it was that allowed Jim Kirk to do whatever he just fucking did. 

All this should have occupied McCoy. And yet, through the murmuring of confused congratulations Mccoy heard only the clear crisp snap of Jim biting into an apple. Saw only his triumphant gaze. That little fucker. Their eyes met briefly; Jim winked, and Bones rolled his eyes. But the smile refused to fade.

The bastard did it, he thought, Smartass. Dumbass. Fucking prick. I’ll never hear the end of it.

McCoy continued to watch as Jim looked away, grinning up through the one-sided glass. Watched his jaw work on that… fucking apple. Watched his eyes disappear behind that impossible smile. Watched his shoulders spread to fill the space, watched his hips slide as he shifted his weight—

Stop.

Just like that, McCoy’s tunnel vision dissolved and the rest of reality snapped into focus. McCoy forced himself to look away. This wouldn’t do any damned good.

McCoy had loved Jim since… well. It was hard to tell. He didn’t wake up one day and find himself stricken with lovesickness. And if it were a sickness, a disease of some sort, McCoy was sure that he could cure it. But no. Loving Jim wasn’t an illness. It was a state of being. It was cause and effect. It was… more like something out of physics than medicine. Not something to fix, but something to understand and accept as true. 

And how could he not? Love Jim, that is. He was young and bright and the entire universe was pulling at him from every direction and shining out from the center of his being. He was pretty. And he was a genius. He was ready to fight anything and everything at a moment’s notice, just for the sake of some inner conviction that battles needed to be fought. 

And the universe wanted to fight him. McCoy wanted to fight him. McCoy wanted to fight with him. McCoy wanted to fight for him. McCoy wanted to keep him fighting. McCoy wanted to know what kept him fighting. McCoy wanted to hear his unfinished thoughts. McCoy wanted to ease that ever-present tension. McCoy wanted to kiss the stupid smirk from his cheek. McCoy wanted to fuck that tightly wound body. McCoy wanted to hear that pretty mouth scream.

Woah. Calm the fuck down. Relax. 

So McCoy loved him. And how could he not? But it didn’t matter. Because McCoy was old and dull and the universe did nothing for him but piss him off. He was used up and he was tired. He had already fought the universe, already tried, but he had lost. He had nothing left to offer. He was no one worth being. Not a husband to his wife—ex-wife; not a father to Joanna; and certainly not a lover to Jim. The person he knew he could be was a doctor. And he once had some romantic ideas of why a doctor might make a fine lover, but alas—those ideas had withered under the relentless heat of his cynicism. 

Anyway everyone knew that one day Jim would have his own starship. And McCoy would be a chief medical officer—what else could McCoy do with his lot than achieve absolute excellence in his field?—and be confined to med bay. As usual, as always, Jim would have his adventures and McCoy would be there to patch him up, nothing more. What was the point, then, of wanting. What was the point of even thinking about it. 

McCoy did not lose himself entirely in these thoughts. He was too familiar with the terrain. Instead he managed to wander through these musings and simultaneously watch Jim take another bite of his apple, finish up some minor unnecessary details, and gather his things. When Jim clapped McCoy on the shoulder it did not startle him out of any depths; McCoy had long since learned to tread this water. 

Jim could not mask his anxiety. Damn him. Jim was nervous about how this would pan out, he knew it would be bad, but he did it anyway. Fuck him. 

But then Jim’s hand tightened on McCoy’s shoulders and everything inside of him softened. Not outside. No, neither McCoy’s face nor body would betray him like that. But on the inside, everything, the fuck this and fuck that and fuck you and dammit, Jim, it all faded into a soft… okay. It was the very same “okay” that stayed his harshest criticisms, warmed his iciest intentions, prevented him from leaving. The okay that allowed their friendship, the okay that forced McCoy to follow Jim into anything and everything. The okay that fucking caused him to take a command class, a single one, just so that he could accompany Jim on these stupid fucking Kobyashi Maru tests so he wouldn’t be fucking alone facing his self-inflicted fears, so that in that moment when he was about to fail Jim could look at McCoy and McCoy could remind him with a glance that it was okay, so that in that moment of success when fear was plastered on his brow in a language no one else could understand McCoy could respond in a language of his own, could say with a twitch of the corner of his mouth fuck you, Jim, for fucking getting into this, for getting me into this, but you know what, despite your utter fucking insufferable stupidity it’s all going to be—

Okay. 

“Congratulations,” McCoy muttered, smile finally tamed into a scowl, awed voice finally smothered into a scolding growl. There was so much left unsaid—you’re gonna have hell to pay, and I can’t believe you did this, who am I kidding this whole thing has you written all over it, you’re a fucking moron, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth but I’ll never let you fucking forget that you’re the literal actual worst, I need a drink. Impossibly, Jim seemed to understand all of it.

But, quite predictably, Jim also ignored all of it.

“Thanks,” he replied, and his lopsided smirk was very Action Movie Protagonist and McCoy hated himself for watching it twitch watching the round of his cheek watching his eyebrow lift eyelashes flutter fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— 

“Let’s go out for drinks,” Jim suggested, “In celebration. Your treat, of course.”

The mention of drinks, as if Jim had in fact been reading McCoy’s mind, caught him off guard. Almost enough to garner a reaction. Almost enough to cause his face to do anything more than his signature lifted eyebrow. But not quite enough.

Jim’s smirk melted into a genuine smile and he walked off. McCoy still felt his handprint on his shoulder, still felt slightly unnerved, still. He let Jim saunter a few paces ahead before allowing himself a response.

“Celebrate my ass,” he managed, rubbing his temple and following after Jim. Following. Because what else could he do but follow?


End file.
